


A Rose by Any Other Name

by keyboardclicks



Series: "Men at Some Time are Masters of Their Fates" [6]
Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Earl's Court Era, Fluff, Language of Flowers, M/M, rafflesweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 03:12:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10296191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyboardclicks/pseuds/keyboardclicks
Summary: "You'd rather sit here in the dark?" I asked, closing the heavy drapes."I'd rather not have to worry about being recognized," AJ snapped.  "As Mr. Maturin or otherwise."





	

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for today was "By jove but the stars are bright tonight" but I've been traveling and and too tired to write something new so here is a fic I wrote a while ago that I think you guys will enjoy. As with the last one, I'll probably come back and edit this one at some point in the future.

It was a pleasant spring afternoon, warm and uncommonly sunny for London, but Raffles was in as foul a mood as I had ever seen him. More than usually violent towards Dr. Theobald at breakfast, he had nearly been successfully in shattering my eardrums along with his bowl of porridge and cup of (unfortunately weak as per the good doctor’s orders) tea. Even when our supervisor had gone, leaving me to be my friend’s only companion, his mood was continuously unpleasant.

“No, no-close the curtain, Bunny,” he snapped as I attempted to move the heavy drapes. “I don’t feel much like sunlight.”

“You’d rather sit here in the dark?” But I obeyed, and pulled the cloth back and extinguished the only hint of the outside world that crept into the room. Smoke from the end of Raffles’ cigarette clogged the already stale air, which was why I had gone to open the window in the first place, and the final embers of the tobacco burned bright near my friends lips.

“I’d rather sit here and not bother having to worry about someone seeing me.” His tone was sharp, not unlike the one in which Theobald heard him speak. I sighed and resigned myself to sit in a nearby chair and peruse the day’s paper in darkness.

“It’s not that much of a hassel,” I said. “It’s not as if everyone down on the street is eager to look in your window. Besides, those who do will just see you as old Mr. Maturin, Raffles.”

“I am very well aware of that,” he bit. “And I’ll thank you not to remind me again.”

My eyes lifted from the paper, which I had barely begun to read, and scanned him in surprise. The darkness of present was not unlike the darkness in which I had first met old Mr. Maturin, and for all the world if I had not known it was Raffles I never should have guessed it. The lines on his face told of years not yet lived, and the sea of once ink-black curls were now a ghostly paper white. Scowling with a common cigarette between his lips, he looked completely unlike that boyish ruffian whom I had fallen for so madly what felt both like a day and an eon ago. Truly, it was the most effective disguise he could possibly have.

But that, I realized, was as much a problem as it was a blessing.

I will not say that Raffles was a vain man, only that he had a healthy pride in his appearance. No person who knew him would say this was a fault; he had constantly been the most handsome man in the room at clubs or parties, the one whom women giggled and gawked at behind their fans, and the one men envied for his natural presence and charm. Now, though, with his wrinkled face and colorless hair, he had lost so much of that, and it sometimes escaped me how deeply upsetting that must have been.

“Bunny, make yourself useful and go get me another box of cigarettes.”

If London could every day have been as sunny and bright as it was then, the great poets of the world may have begun to write of its glory. The sky, for once, was clear and blue, and songbirds made delicate melodies atop roofs and awnings. I had gotten the cigarettes, as asked, and decided to take the longer way back so that I may avoid my friend’s foul mood for a few minutes longer. Because of this I chanced to pass a cart at which a woman was selling freshly cut flowers, all blooming well in the warm spring air.

“Buy some flowers for your lady, sir?” asked the woman, gesturing to her wares. When my pace slowed, the ushered me closer. “Come, come, sir! Beautiful flowers’r sure to bring a smile to your lady’s face-that’s my guarantee!”

Admittedly, her selection was impressive: lilies, roses, little bunches of violets and clusters of bright daffodils, and not a single bloom could I see wilting. I pondered for a moment, and considered the money I had in my pocket.

“How much would it be if I were to make a bouquet?” I asked warily. The woman gave me a wide, jovial smile.

“See, I knew you was a sweet man, sir! Could see it right on your face!”

We then proceeded to barter for the price of the bouquet which I created, and I finished my walk back to Earl’s Court with a much livelier step than I had started it. Raffles, for his part, was still sulking on his bed when I returned, and barely looked at me except to snatch the box of cigarettes from my hands. Undeterred, I returned to the window and pulled back the curtain, letting the warm spring light flood in.

Raffles cursed. “Bunny!” he snapped. “I told you, I’m not in the mood for sunlight- put the curtain back!” Blinking, his eyes adjusting to the assault, his brow furrowed when getting his first proper look at the bundle in my arms.

“What’s that?” he asked.

I smiled, and stepped to the side of his bed. “A bouquet,” I said, offering it to him. “The room was awfully dull; thought perhaps these would liven it up.”

After a moment, Raffles took the flowers from me and examined them. Persian buttercups in delicate yellow surrounded the longer stems of purple stock, all tied together with a thin, white ribbon. The effect, I found, was very pleasing.

Raffles looked at the flowers for a few moments, and the hard lines about his face visibly softened. I saw a smile curve onto those thin lips, and in his eyes there was again a twinkling light which, until then, I had not seen in days.

“You sentimental rabbit…”

Now I smiled as well, and sat myself upon his bedside. “I remembered that old book,” I said. “The one you would sometimes find me flipping through in your study.”

Raffles laughed. Both his curls and the flowers bounced and shook. “Ah yes- it seemed if you were not pouring over poetry, you were doing so over that book of flowers. I only took an interest in it after you began to, truthfully.”

We smiled at one another for a few, precious moments, before I broke the silence.

“I shall fetch a vase,” I said, “and no matter Theobald’s protests, I think they should stay right by your bedside until they wilt. With the curtain open, if it’s all the same to you.”

Again, he laughed, and a warm hand found it’s way to the curve of my cheek. “Well, I suppose a bit of sunlight could do me nothing but good. But we must always be cautious, Bunny.”

I am not sure if we were foolish or brave, perhaps both, to kiss before that window, but I swore I could taste the warm sunlight on his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Persian Buttercups (or Ranunculus) mean: Radiant Charm/ or You are Attractive/Charming
> 
> Purple Stock means: Beauty does not Fade with Age or Time


End file.
